To Master One
by bikelock28
Summary: "By the way, is it wrong that I…" you murmur. The "ng" comes out like a growl. You like it. Missy glances down, then meets your eyes again with her cold blue ones and says bluntly, "Yes. Very." You swallow, feeling the growl again. You're disappointed but not surprised; you were getting that vibe from her. Master/Missy wrongness from The Doctor Falls. Simm-Master PoV.


**I loved to hate and hated to love the Missy/Master sexual tension in** ** _The Doctor Falls._** **This fic is set in one of the most brilliant/ horrible moments between them in that ep. It's fairly dark (by my standards). WARNINGS for r*pe and implications of acephobia and misogyny. They're the opinions of my interpretation of the Master, and not sentiments I share. Also there's some canon inaccuracies because Simm-Master doesn't know what the Doctor's been up to lately.**

 **Hope you enjoy this story.**

To Master One

You're hard and you know she can feel it.

"By the way, is it wrong that I…" you murmur. The "ng" comes out like a growl. You like it.

Missy momentarily glances down, then meets your eyes again with her cold blue eyes and says bluntly, "Yes. Very,"

You swallow, feeling the growl again. You're disappointed but not entirely surprised; you were getting that vibe from her. When you were dancing you sensed she was only doing it because to taunt the Flying Scotsman tied to a wheelchair. She hadn't been feeling the music like you'd been. Feeling the rhythm and melody and beat pulsing through your body. You've always loved music, perhaps even more so since the drums in your head have ceased. Whereas for Missy it had seemed…just music. Just a tune in the background. And moreover, she wasn't as into the physicality of the thing. She wasn't touching you like she meant it, wasn't touching you like she wanted to touch you more. You hadn't wanted to take it personally but, well, it could hardly be more personal could it, in multiple ways. Perhaps in becoming a woman you lose your sex drive. It'd make sense, wouldn't it, anatomically speaking. Hormonally. Perhaps your current self used up all your lust, leaving none for future lady-version. One of the upsides of being Prime Minister was the security services and press management who hushed up your visits to brothels and occasional liaisons with secretaries and door-boys in Downing Street cupboards. You- this incarnation of you- is restless and thrumming with sex. Missy's Mary Poppins get-up seems rather romantic, but from what you've gathered there's hardly any sex drive in her, any need to use power in that way. Hmm, perhaps she has other ways. Perhaps she doesn't feel that heat and instead prefers the cold. You are fire and she is ice. Together you are unstoppable.

This Andy Stewart Doctor's lost his balls too. Not as literally as you will, but he's cold like Missy. Perhaps that's why she likes him so much. You can tell she likes him, considerably more than you do and more than you did his predecessor. Flying Scotsman Doctor seems far too gruff and impatient to care about sex. Well, he always was boring wasn't he, a swot, a square. But even his previous self hadn't been quite such a cold fish. You didn't have this conversation par se with Spikey-Hair Chav-Trainers, but you could tell he was a lech like you. Nobody wears trousers that tight unless he wants you to think about what's underneath. No guy gels his hair like that unless he wants someone to rake their hands through it. No old man picks up that many young girls unless he wants sometimes from them. You had a go on the sister a few times the year you held her family captive on the spaceship. The first time she cried afterwards, but the next few times she'd just wince, rearrange her dress and apron and leave as fast as she could. Sometimes you'd let her go and sometimes you'd whistle her back to give you one last kiss. You'd ask her to smile and she would, grimly, and you'd laugh. You like laughing. You wonder why, that year, you didn't also have a go on Geek-Chic Rat-Ribs Doctor. God, that would have been good. Explosive. You close your eyes, picturing his neck. The pale skin around his throat. You imagine his Adams apple in your mouth. You imagine the weight of those matchstick limbs on top of you, his quick breaths in your ear while you reached behind yourself to yank his hair. Or you'd take him instead, have him writhing underneath you, squealing in his high-pitched voice. You always said he was little girl.

Anyway, that's all gone now, leaving Cold Fish Doctor to mince around being all _brave_ and _noble_ and _caring._ You aren't sure if you find it disgusting or tedious. Teacher's pet, teacher's pet, and now he's got to spend all his lives showing the universe how clever and well-behaved he is. You should have beaten him up more when you were children, knocked this hero complex out of him.

Missy brandishes the dematerialization circuit in front of you. "Well stop gawping," she snaps. She's got this Mary Poppins thing going on, all affected and posh. You thought you didn't indulge in that gimmickry. _He'd_ always been into that, leeks and stupid rainbow coats. You're supposed to be above that nonsense. "Come on," continues Missy. She's like a smashed ice cube- not just cold but jagged too. Harsh. Never mind, you'll take her anyway. A cheerful though occurs to you- it doesn't count as force if this version of yourself consents. You agree now that you can do anything he likes to yourself in the future, you can tie her up, put her in collars, let her whip you like a dog. Don't you deserve to be punished?

"Are you going to stand there all day?" Missy snaps, "We've got a TARDIS to fix,"

She sweeps off, businesslike. You eye her corseted curves and the sway of her skirt as she leaves. You lick your lips, and follow.

 **Thanks for reading. I do hope you liked this story, Please review to let me know your thoughts.**


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